


The Right Side of Rock Bottom

by lightning and a lightning bug (spoons)



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Post-Season 11, Slurs, Terrible People Being Terrible, series typical terribleness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-09-07 05:17:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8784628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoons/pseuds/lightning%20and%20a%20lightning%20bug
Summary: Frank's latest scheme turns Paddy's into a gay bar for Philly Pride weekend. Mac gets a lot of attention from their new patrons, and Dennis is definitely not jealous. Not jealous at all. He's not GODDAMN JEALOUS, OKAY, DEE??Set after season eleven (but started before season twelve had happened).





	1. Wednesday

** Wednesday **

"You know what this place needs?" Frank announces the moment he walks into Paddy's. "More gays."

"Gays?" Dennis repeats incredulously from behind the bar. He exchanges a look with Dee.

"I was at this gay bar last night and they were charging eighteen dollars for a single drink-- and people were buying them!" Frank throws his arms up. "Gays! There is money to be made there.”

“Why were you at a gay bar?” Dee asks, as if that’s what they should be focussing on on here.

“There was a buffet,” Frank says.

"We already did the gay bar thing," Charlie cuts in.

"Yeah, but I wasn't here for it," Frank counters. "So it basically didn't count. I say gays. We can do a big event. Pride weekend is this weekend! Philly Pride. We’ll make Paddy’s the gayest bar there is!” He chuckles and heads towards the back office.

“Now hang on a second, Frank,” Dennis calls after him, but is answered only by the slam of the office door. God only knows what Frank is going to do in there. It’s not a bad idea. It’s actually a pretty decent idea, but it rankles Dennis that Frank came up with it, and then strode in here and expected them all to just get on board. Like he goddamn runs the place or something.

Dennis looks to Dee again, ready for her to back him up. 

She disappoints him. He really should have know better than to expect anything different. 

"Pride weekend makes sense to me,” Dee says. “We could make a whole lotta cash."

“What?” Now he turns to Charlie, eyebrows raised in a clear signal. It used to be he could always count on Charlie to bash Dee with him, but Charlie has been dropping the ball in that area lately lately. Dennis could have sworn last week Charlie even _defended_ Dee at one point. “What about last time, how much you complained?”

“Yeah, Dee,” Charlie, for once, gets the hint. “What about all the attention you won’t be getting—”

“Not that you get much anyway,” Dennis jumps in.

“Or all the tips you’ll be missing out on—”

“Tips that you don’t make now.”

“Or the eligible men you won’t meet—”

“You’re a dirty whore and you sleep with trash.” Dennis takes a triumphant swig of his beer.

But apparently Dee is in one of her moods where she doesn’t rise to their bait. Instead, she smiles. Despite having no genetic relation to Frank, Dee’s I-have-a-plan smile is shockingly similar to his.

"Ah, see I've thought about this." Dee waggles her beer bottle at Dennis and Charlie. "And it could really boost my brand to have a gay best friend."

“Your _brand_?” Dennis asks scathingly.

"Yeah yeah yeah.” Dee nods her head like a bird pecking at its food. “See, it's like the thing now for cool, sexy young women to have a gay best friend. Yeah, we can talk about clothes and boys, and judge people together."

"Why do you need a gay best friend for any of that?" Dennis asks at the same time as Mac walks into the bar. 

"What about Mac?" Charlie asks.

"What about me what?" Mac says.

"Dee wants a gay best friend.”

"Ewww no." Mac makes a face. "I don't want to be Dee's best friend."

“You can suck my dick, Mac,” Dee fires back. “Cause there is no way in hell I’d want to be your best friend either.”

"That's not the goddamn point," Dennis says loudly. He feels like he’s losing control of the situation, and he hates that feeling. "The point is Frank wants to make Paddy's into a gay bar for Pride Weekend." 

There. He leans back after dropping that bomb, and waits for the inevitable blow out. Mac will back him up that this is a bad idea. Mac always backs Dennis up.

But Mac just shrugs. "We can make a shitload of money,” he says. “Drinks at most gay bars are like fifteen dollars, minimum."

"How do you know--" Charlie starts to ask but Dennis cuts him off again. What is _happening_ today?

"Mac, how are you okay with this? Aren't you gonna give us some big speech about the evils of homosexuality?"

"Sure, if you want me to.” Mac looks pathetically hopeful at the prospect.

“Fuck no, I don't want you to!" Dennis yells. Goddamnit, how has this gotten so far away from him? Frank’s not even in the room anymore and his idea is still ricocheting around like a bullet, causing all sorts of bullshit.

“Okay." Mac gives up easily. Mac always gives up so damn easily. "Well I tell you one thing, I’d rather a bunch of queers come hang out here for Pride weekend. We are an Irish Catholic bar, you know. It's practically like going to church. We can probably save some of them.”

“That’s not even..." Dee starts to say.

"We're not an Irish Catholic bar!" Charlie yells. 

But Dennis ignores them both. A plan is forming and he narrows his eyes at Mac. If this is what they want to do, then Dennis will take charge, like always. This isn’t Frank’s stupid idea anymore, this is now Dennis’s Brilliant Plan.

“Fine," he says, not taking his eyes from Mac. Mac looks back at him, face open and innocent. Something stirs deep in Dennis’s stomach, and he has the sudden urge to smash the beer bottle in his hand on the bar and grind the broken bits of glass into Mac’s stupid guileless face. 

"Frank?" Dennis calls into the back. "Let's make Paddy’s a gay bar."

***


	2. Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac gets hit on, Dennis does some grinding, and there is a lot of alcohol. The first night of Philly's Pride at Paddy's Pub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this fic is set after the season 11 finale. I also decided for the purposes of the story Dennis and Mac have their old apartment back now.

** Friday **

Dennis is tending bar along with Dee for the first night of Philly Pride. Now that he’s taken over Frank’s idea, he is committing to it fully. He did his makeup with extra precision tonight— two coats of mascara and his expensive lip gloss with the collagen in it that gives his mouth that well-fucked look. He considered wearing a tank top but decided that was too predictable, too gauche. Instead he went with a tight t-shirt with the deepest v-neck he could find. It’s a royal blue that he knows brings out the color of his eyes, and makes him look porcelain and angelic rather than pale and washed-out. The short sleeves cut a little into his biceps, highlighting his lean form.

Three beers and two tequila shots in and he’s having an okay time. Dee has also gotten into the spirit of the night, wearing some sort of drapey silk dress with a low-slung belt that she clearly thinks makes her look like Sarah Jessica Parker in _Sex in the City,_ but instead makes her look like a flag pole with a limp and tangled flag. At least she let Dennis do her hair, and he blew it out big and dramatic, doing what he could to give her that movie star look. She started off the night loud and desperate, trying too hard to sound sophisticated, throwing around every designer name she could think of and referencing Lady Gaga a lot.

She’s had more to drink than Dennis by now, and she’s calmed down. This is his second favorite version of Dee, where she is drunk enough to relax and forget to pretend to be funny, but not so drunk she’s disgusting and sloppy. His absolute favorite version is when she is cold and calculating and she drops her successful-and-well-adjusted act entirely to expose the bared teeth and raw bones underneath. Dee can cut like a knife when she puts her mind to it, like when they play Chardee MacDennis, or she tries to outsmart him in controlling a cult. That’s his favorite Dee, the one that’s made of sharp and ruthless steel.

But this Dee— giggling and swaying Dee— laughs at his jokes and touches his arm like a prayer. She shows off her hair to everyone who orders a drink and says the words “my brother” a lot. Dennis can feel the admiration rolling off of her like smoke from a fire. He breathes it in, lets it fill his lungs.

“Hey there.” A young guy with a defined jaw and plump lips approaches Dennis’s end of the bar. Dennis gives him his most seductive smile. He hasn’t been hit on quite as much as he expected tonight, but it’s not that late yet and it’s only the first day of Pride weekend, after all. He’s probably too intimidatingly beautiful for most of these men work up the courage to talk to him until after they’ve had a few drinks.

“Can you do me a favor?” the guy with the good jaw and the sexy lips asks. Dennis smirks.

“Let me guess,” he drawls. “You saw the glory hole in the bathroom. Well, buddy, I’m busy serving drinks right now, but tell you what, come find me later and—”

“No, no! No!” The guy cuts him off with way more vehemence than is necessary. He actually has the audacity to give Dennis a perturbed look, as though Dennis didn’t just offer this guy the potential of the greatest sexual experience of his life. “I wasn’t— no. I just wanted to send a drink to that guy over there.”

Dennis’s smirk dies immediately. Seriously? There is someone here this guy would rather be hitting on than him? 

“Why,” Dennis can’t stop himself from muttering, “does his dick shoot whiskey?”

“What?” the guy asks. His jaw is too square, Dennis thinks now, and his lips are puffy and uneven, like they’re the result some allergic reaction.

“Nothing.” Dennis doesn’t bother to ask what drink the guy wants to send, he just pours a beer. He’s gonna charge him the price of a cocktail for it too. “Which guy?”

The guy with the stupid jaw and ugly lips points again, and Dennis follows the direction of his finger.

“You’re shitting me,” he says.

The guy is pointing straight at Mac. 

Dennis hasn’t seen Mac since the first of the Pride crowd started filling the bar a few hours ago. Mac had dashed off on some errand for Frank, shouting about what a good job he was going to do while the rest of them ignored him. Dennis had been a little annoyed when Mac didn’t immediately return, since they had to put Charlie in charge of checking IDs and he was notoriously terrible at it, but then he got caught up in the crowd and the music and forgot all about it.

Mac must have gone back to their apartment after running his little errand, because he’s changed clothes. Gone is the tattered and stained beater shirt, replaced with a dark tank top that clings to Mac’s upper body, putting all his glamor muscles on display. He’s not even wearing those awful blue pants he likes so much either, but instead honest-to-goodness jeans. And not just any jeans, jeans that hug his ass and thighs in all the right places and make it almost look like he doesn’t skip leg day at the gym. Where the _hell_ did Mac get a pair of jeans like that?

“Um, is everything okay?”

Dennis had totally forgotten about the idiot in front of him buying the drink. He spits out the price, takes the cash, then shoves the beer into the guy’s hand.

“Give it to him yourself,” he snaps.

The guy backs away, making a face, as if Dennis is the one acting out of line here. He’s a bartender and a business owner, not a goddamn waiter. He’s not delivering drinks to anyone.

And what is Mac doing over there anyway? He’s leaning against one of their tall tables, hip cocked and ass stuck out like an invitation. He’s talking to a group of young guys, and Dennis is pretty sure he’s not talking about his Lord and Savior given the way all of the guys are laughing and nodding and leaning into him. What the fuck is he possibly saying that is so damn interesting?

The idiot with the jaw and the lips has made his way over to Mac now, and shyly hands him the beer he bought. Dennis waits for Mac to throw it back in the guy’s face, to smash the beer on the ground and start some fight he can’t finish that ruins everything for the rest of them. Dennis will be tasked with picking up the pieces and calming Mac down, and he’ll do it this time, because Dennis can be a benevolent god when he chooses. 

But Mac doesn’t throw the beer in anyone’s face. He accepts the glass with a smile and tilts his head back to drain half of it in two swallows. Idiot Jaw watches his throat work with all the subtlety of a lion watching a wounded gazelle. He starts talking to Mac then, and Mac appears to be talking back, and he’s smiling, and he isn’t moving away even when the idiot takes a step closer and puts his fingertips on Mac’s forearm, brushing his dragon tattoo.

That’s it. That’s fucking _it_. Dennis doesn’t know if Mac is being deliberately obtuse, or he really is that stupid, but Dennis has had enough of watching this shit. Ignoring a patron who is in the middle of asking for a drink, Dennis darts out from behind the bar and heads straight for Mac.

“Mac!” he shouts, struggling to be heard over the thumping of the music. “Mac!”

It takes far longer than it should for Mac to pull his gaze from Idiot Jaw and see Dennis charging up to him. He smiles at Dennis, wide and loose. It looks a lot like the way he smiles when he’s high, only his eyes are bright and clear, almost sparkling in the glow of the fairy lights they spent all yesterday stringing around the bar. 

“Hey, Dennis.” Mac is the only one capable of making his name sound like that, warm and welcome. This clearly isn’t his first beer of the night. “What’s up?”

Dennis grabs him by the arm— it just so happens to be the arm Idiot Jaw was touching— and pulls him away from his little fan club.

“What are you doing?” he demands. 

Mac looks at him, wide-eyed like a damn baby deer. “Talking with customers?”

“Shouldn’t you be checking IDs, or doing whatever the hell you usually do as ‘head of security?’ at Paddy’s?” Dennis is sure to use the most vicious air quotes he can.

“Nah, dude, check it out. Everyone keeps mentioning my muscles. I’m finally getting the recognition I deserve for being totally hard.” Mac flexes at Dennis and Jesus Christ, Dennis doesn’t even know where to start.

“You’re not— that’s not— he was hitting on you!” Dennis figures he’ll start there, work Mac up into a homophobic frenzy then tear down all his delusions one by one. He might even manage to get Mac so angry he’ll hit Dennis, split open his knuckles on Dennis’s cheekbone. And then Mac will feel badly about it later, and he’ll knock on Dennis’s bedroom door to apologize, meek and cowering, and maybe Dennis will let him, or maybe he won’t, and he’ll push him further, just to see what else Mac will do.

This was part of The Plan after all, a way to make Frank’s scheme work for Dennis. He wants to see Mac get riled up, he wants to push on the edges of his comfort zone until it collapses in on itself. But _Dennis_ wants to be the one making Mac confront his own lies, not some idiot with a two-by-four for a jaw and the stolen lips of Janice Dickinson on his face. 

Dennis was even getting prepared to stage an encounter where Mac would see him going down on some guy or maybe even taking a dick, depending. Dennis got off last night picturing the look of horror mixed with arousal on Mac’s face after walking in on something like that. He knows exactly how to control Mac, how to play on all his insecurities and self-delusions. Dennis is the world’s most talented emotional musician when it comes to playing Mac.

Or at least, he thought he was.

“He was hitting on you,” Dennis repeats, just in case Mac didn’t hear him the first time. But still the outrage doesn’t come. Mac actually looks over at Idiot Jaw, and he _flushes._

“Really?” Mac says, like he’s flattered. Like he’s _interested._ Dennis steps sideways, blocking his view.

“Aren’t you going to go all caveman now?” Dennis demands. “Yell or kick him out cause he’s being gay?”

“Uh, Den.” Mac puts his hand on Dennis’s arm. He speaks slowly and patiently like he’s explaining to Charlie why drinking a whole bottle of mouthwash is a bad idea. “It’s Pride weekend. All these guys are gay.”

Dennis wants to punch him. He almost does. His hand is clenched at his side, but he decides at the last moment that he won’t give the salivating patrons in the bar further excuse to cluster around Mac. He turns on his heel and stalks away instead, taking up his place behind the bar again.

Mac looks a little perturbed by his sudden departure, but the crease between his eyebrows quickly fades as Idiot Jaw approaches him once more. Again, he puts his hand on Mac’s arm.

Dennis pours himself a shot of tequila and throws it back. He pours another one. And another. The burning in his mouth and throat is welcome. It matches the burning in his chest.

He doesn’t care if Mac wants to hook up with some Pride weekend club trash like Idiot Jaw. He’s doesn’t care if Mac is finally ready to admit to himself that he’s gay, he likes guys, he wants some dick. Dennis will goddamn _welcome it_ if Mac is finally no longer pretending to be straight, because it means the rest of them don’t have to fucking deal with all his lies and pathetic posturing anymore. 

But this is not how Dennis pictured it.

What happened on the cruise ship was more like it, a quick declaration from Mac that left Dennis plenty of opportunity to plan his next steps and mentally amend his file on Mac. He’d been slightly derailed when it seemed they were all going to die, and then fully derailed when Mac immediately recanted his confession and spent the night insisting to Dennis and Dee he was enjoying the straight porn he’d downloaded on his laptop.

Dennis didn’t falter, however, because the Golden God never falters. He made a new plan for Mac’s eventual acceptance of his exclusive attraction to men, one that put Dennis as his guide and gay-sex-guru. One that put Dennis in control, which, really, is what Mac needs most. He can’t be trusted to start sleeping with men on his own. He couldn’t even goddamn admit to himself he was gay in the first place, there was no way he was going to make it actually acting on his gayness without Dennis there to teach him.

Dennis isn’t gay. Dennis isn’t straight. Dennis is _evolved._ He is beyond the banality of labels for his sexuality. But he is an expert at sex, no matter the gender of his sexual partner. And Mac obviously isn’t on his same level. Mac is small-minded and un-evolved, and he needs labels in order to understand his place in the world. He needs _Dennis_ in order to understand his place in the world.

What Mac doesn’t need is a crowd of too-tight-t-shirt-wearing men flocking to be around him, buying him drinks, and making up lies about how sexy his biceps are. That isn’t going to help anybody.

Dennis reaches for the tequila again, but the bottle is gone. When he looks up, he sees Dee taking a long swig and eyeing him speculatively. Dennis glares back at her.

“What.”

“Mac’s choosing a hell of a way to christen having your apartment back,” Dee says with a grin. Dennis makes a swipe for the tequila but Dee holds it out of reach with her ridiculously long bird arms. A customer at the bar shouts for a drink. They both ignore him.

“You’re so wrong, Dee. Mac is not going to bring any of these guys home. Don’t be a dumb bitch.”

“Oh no?” Dee cocks her head toward the dance floor they created at the back of Paddy’s. Dennis makes sure to roll his eyes at her before looking over, just so she knows he thinks she’s being totally asinine.

And she is. Just because Mac is now on the dance floor, surrounded by his throng of admirers, doesn’t mean he’s going to take one of said admirers back to their apartment. Just because none of the gyrating men seem to be put off by Mac’s ridiculous dance moves doesn’t mean he’s going to happily fuck one of them tonight. Just because Mac is doing that thing he did to Dennis once, the dance move that makes it look like he’s giving head, and the man in front of him is smiling and touching Mac’s hair instead of jerking his hips away like Dennis did, that does not mean Mac will later be putting the same guy on his back and holding down his wrists and whispering all sorts of filth into his ear.

“Jesus Christ, Dennis,” Dee says, halfway between amused and alarmed. “Don’t hurt yourself. You’re gonna bust a goddamn vein if you keep glaring like that.”

“I’m not jealous!” Dennis snaps at her. The last thing he needs right now is Dee nosing her way into this.

Dee feigns innocence, eyes popping from her head. “Did I say jealous?” she asks. “I don’t remember saying jealous. _You_ said jealous.”

“I’m not jealous!” Dennis repeats, and it’s almost a shriek. He can see Dee is wavering between laughing at him, and pitying him, and he wants none of it. He shoves her out of his way, satisfied when she bumps her elbow and drops the bottle of tequila. It smashes at her feet and Dee screeches obscenities after him.

“I’ll show you,” he mutters as he storms around the bar. “Me, jealous. Ha! He’s the one who… Cause _I’m_ not… I’m _always_ the one that—”

Dennis shoves his way onto the dance floor. Some skinny twink tries to put his hand on Dennis’s waist and Dennis all but punches him in the face. All thoughts of being hit on have gone out of his head. He has a single focus now.

Dennis reaches Mac, still crouched low and bobbing about like a drunken fool, and drags him to his feet. Before Mac can say a word in protest, Dennis pushes in close, pressing their hips together. He works one hand into Mac’s sticky hair and the other beneath his t-shirt, digging his fingers into Mac’s waist. He does what none of the other dicks had the guts to do. This isn’t a game for him, some coy and classless flirting. Dennis dances with Mac like he means it.

Mac, for his part, is surprisingly unresisting. He loops his arms around Dennis’s shoulders and moves easily into the rhythm Dennis is setting. He’s unexpectedly graceful when he’s not the one creating the dance moves but rather following the lead of someone much more physically gifted.

The music is a deep, pulsing beat with some teen pop princess whisper-moaning over it. It’s not Dennis’s favorite by a long shot, but he can make almost anything work. He circles his hips against Mac’s, slotting their legs together. Mac keeps his head down, forehead nearly resting on Dennis’s shoulder, and somehow that makes the dancing feel hotter, more dangerous. Dennis takes his hand from Mac’s hair and slides it down his side, dipping just his fingertips beneath the waistband of Mac’s jeans. Mac sucks in a startled breath.

Yes, this is what Dennis wanted. This is how it should be. Dennis in control. Everyone can see it. Mac might have been dancing with some of those other guys, but he wasn’t grinding against them like this, fierce and careless. Dennis is the one who has Mac panting into his neck and making these tiny helpless thrusts against his thigh. The other guys might have put their hands on Mac’s arms but Dennis is touching him all over his back and down his ass. It’s obvious now to everyone in the bar Dennis is the leader here, Dennis can have anything he wants, and Mac will always and forever belong to him.

The song switches to something slower and dirtier. Mac’s been hard since Dennis first grabbed him, and Dennis grinds more deliberately into him now, making sure Mac can feel he is choosing to be hard too. Mac makes a small noise that only Dennis can hear, and it makes his erection feel a little less voluntarily, a little more desperate. He puts one hand on Mac’s neck, jerking his head back so he is forced to look Dennis in the eyes.

Mac’s pupils are blown so wide his eyes look entirely black. His lips are swollen and pink like he’s been biting them. Dennis passes his thumb roughly over the bottom lip, and Mac makes another noise, something low in his throat. Dennis wants to chase the sound, wants to hear it over and over again, wants to Mac to keep confirming just how much Dennis has won.

Dennis leans in towards Mac’s lips and Mac suddenly jerks back, moving his hands from Dennis’s waist to his shoulders and giving him a hard shove. It’s like he’s thrown a freezing cold bucket of water over Dennis’s head, and for a moment all he can do is stare at Mac with his mouth half-open.

“What the hell, dude?” Mac asks in a shaking voice.

Some of the other people on the dance floor are starting to stare too, glancing curiously over their partner’s shoulders to see if perhaps a fight is beginning. A shiver runs through Dennis’s body. He feels hot all over, then cold again. Mac glances down like he’s embarrassed. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something else, but Dennis has had enough.

“Your loss,” he spits at the dance floor in general, then pushes his way through the crowd to the front of the bar. He swipes someone’s drink as he goes, downing it in a single swallow, and smashes the glass on the ground as soon as he is outside.

He’s seething with rage and disgust. He wishes he had another glass to smash. He wishes he had someone to hit, someone with warm brown eyes and a stupid wide smile who he could punch and punch until they were bleeding and begging at his feet. If Frank hadn’t had this dumb gay bar idea, Dennis could have picked up a girl tonight and taken her back to their new apartment, fucked her against his door and made his noises loud and pornographic so Mac was sure to hear them all the way in his bedroom.

Dennis can’t go home tonight, that’s for sure. He isn’t giving Mac the satisfaction. Maybe he will find a girl tonight, someone who is properly grateful and awed to be given the chance to have sex with him. Any girl would be goddamn lucky to share her bed with the Golden God himself.

Unfortunately, it’s only Dee who ends up doing so tonight. Dennis went to her apartment to collect himself after the pointless night at Paddy’s, to change shirts from the small stock he still kept at the back of one her dresser drawers, and to drink as much of her alcohol as he possibly could without passing out.

When Dee gets home shortly before three in the morning, Dennis is lying in his boxers on her living room floor, clutching a nearly-empty bottle of Jack and mumbling to himself.

“Oh, goddamit,” Dennis hears her say when she walks in the door.

Dee is really drunk but Dennis is obliterated, so he doesn’t fight back when she clumsily pulls him to his feet.

“I won,” he tells her.

“You’re a mess,” she tells him.

Dee drops him in her bed, familiar from the months he and Mac shared it with her when they had no apartment of their own. Dennis immediately flops onto his back at the edge of the bed, as far away as possible from where Mac would be lying if he were here.

Dee huffs in irritation, climbing to her knees to drag Dennis’s alcohol-soaked limbs back to the center of the bed so she can flip him on his side.

“No,” Dennis whines. “S’not comfortable.”

“I don’t give a shit about what’s comfortable,” Dee says, her voice sharp even through his drunken haze. “If you puke I don’t want you to choke on it and die, jackass. Though if you puke in my bed I’m gonna kill you anyway.”

“You puke your face,” Dennis retorts, which makes sense in his head but somehow comes out a little jumbled. He tries to roll onto his back again.

“Oh, you motherfucker,” Dee hisses. She shoves him back on his side and presses herself to his back, clamping her arms around him. She is bony and all elbows, but she is surprisingly strong. Realizing he’s caught, Dennis relaxes into her hold. He wants to pass out more than anything, but the image of Mac staring at him like he was the goddamn sun when Dennis touched his mouth is suddenly swimming in front of his eyes, making him jolt back awake.

“Dee,” he says, then again when she doesn’t answer. “Dee. ‘f you were gay… you be gay for me?”

“Oh my god maybe I should let you die,” Dee responds. It isn’t the answer Dennis is looking for. He starts to shift, agitated. He repeats the question.

“Goddamit, yes. Whatever. Fine. If I were gay, I’d be gay for you.” Dee tightens her grip on him. “Now stop crying, okay? You’ll be all blotchy in the morning and you’ll find a way to blame me for it.”

Dennis sniffs. “Don’t wanna be blotchy.”

“I know. So go to sleep.”

Dee raises one hand and strokes from Dennis’s temple into his hair. It’s something she hasn’t done in years, probably since they were back in high school or even before that, when they were huddled up in one of their beds trying to sleep while Frank and their mom carried out an epic fight downstairs. The image of Mac starts to fade, and Dennis starts to drift off into a welcome blackness, but not before one more thought occurs to him.

“Mac's stupid,” he slurs.

He feels more than hears Dee’s sigh. She keeps stroking his hair. Her voice is soft now, and in Dennis’s nearly unconscious stare it sounds almost fond.

“You both are, asshole,” she says.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone who identifies as bi/pansexual, Dennis's whole "I'm not gay or straight" bit was delightfully obnoxious for me to write. I figure if Dennis is acting like an asshole he's probably in character.
> 
> Next chapter will be night two of Philly Pride at Paddy's and (spoiler) will hopefully be the reason I switch this story to an Explicit rating.
> 
> Thanks for reading! You can find me on tumblr [here](http://lightning-and-a-lightning-bug.tumblr.com/) if you want to experience more of my intense feelings on these two terrible men.


	3. Saturday Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang preps for the second day of Philly Pride. Mac has an idea, and Dennis lashes out.

** Saturday Afternoon **

Mac is all over Dennis the second he walks into Paddy’s.

“You didn’t come home last night,” Mac says.

Dennis glares at him in response. He’s clutching a large black coffee and feeling like death. There is no way he is having this conversation right now.

He shoots a furtive glance at Dee, expecting her to make some snide comment about how he spent half the night wasted on her floor and the other half sniveling in her bed, but she doesn’t make one. Instead she heads behind the bar and goes straight for the Baileys. She pours a hefty shot of it into her own coffee, then holds the bottle out to Dennis.

Mac is shifting his weight from foot to foot, still watching him. Dennis pours the Baileys into his coffee and takes a long drink. The pounding in his head eases slightly, but not nearly enough for him to deal with Mac hassling him about not checking in.

“Dennis,” Mac says in a voice that’s suspiciously close to a whine. “Did you go home with someone last night?”

“Why do you care?” Dennis snaps. “Want to watch the tape of it later and jerk off because you’re too pathetic to find someone to plow on your own?”

Mac looks almost comically taken aback by the vehemence in his words. Dennis half expects him to put his hand to his chest and say “my word!” like an old woman. Even Dee blinks a little in surprise.

“Maybe I went home with a guy, Mac,” Dennis continues, because something in Mac’s hurt expression lights a fire in his chest and he wants to see what happens if he keeps feeding it. “What do you think about that? Maybe I let a guy bend me over his kitchen table and fuck the shit out of me, and then come all over my—”

“Oh my god stop talking!” Dee squeals just as Charlie and Frank burst into the bar.

“Ready for day two of Philly Pride!” Charlie shouts with a little wiggle. “Mac, I gotta tell you, being the doorman last night was awesome. I know it’s your thing, man, but if you wanna get your flirt on or whatever again tonight I am all over it. People gave me all sorts of cool shit when they forgot their IDs.”

“You didn’t let anyone underage into the bar, did you, Charlie?” Dee asks disapprovingly. “Cause we all remember how well that worked out last time.”

“Nah, nah.” Charlie slides onto a bar stool in front of Dee. “If they didn’t have an ID I made them solve a riddle to get in.”

“A riddle?” Mac pulls his eyes from Dennis, distracted for a moment. The fire in Dennis’s chest quiets a bit, and he feels cold without its blazing warmth. “Charlie, why would being able to solve a riddle mean someone is over twenty-one?”

“Cause kids are stupid,” Charlie says as if it were obvious. “And it was like, a really smart riddle. See, if a frog and a cat go swimming, and the frog isn’t poisonous and the cat isn’t black, then where does the pond—”

“Who gives a shit,” Frank interrupts. “I printed up more flyers this morning for your idea, Mac. I think it’s gonna bring in a huge crowd of gays tonight!”

He brandishes a stack of lurid pink papers. Mac lunges at him, trying to grab them, but Dennis is faster. He snags a flyer off the top as Frank reels back, cursing at Mac. Dee leans over his shoulder and they scan it together. 

The flyer features a man wearing only jeans and a cowboy hat. He is clearly meant to be the epitome of the male form but his eight-pack abs and bulging biceps scream overcompensation to Dennis and lack any sort of grace or art. His body is twisted into what Dennis supposes is a seductive dance move, if you’re the type of person to be seduced by lumbering slabs of meat.

Below the picture of the shirtless man, the flyer reads, _Are you a primo beefcake? Do you like to put your penis in other men? Do you want them to put their penis in you? Demonstrate your best dance moves tonight, eleven pm, at Paddy’s Pub, to win the coveted Paddy’s Prince of Pride award. You will get all the penis you want! Forty bucks to enter the contest._

“It wasn’t really my idea,” Mac says hastily. “Frank, maybe you’re remembering that body building competition from Mac Day? Cause it’s kinda like that, a little, but…”

“You wrote the flyer!” Frank says indignantly. “And you picked the picture. I wanted it to be a hot chick with huge tits, even though Charlie said this ain’t the right crowd. But gay dudes gotta appreciate huge tits, at least a little, right? Or maybe it coulda been a hot chick with a huge ass?”

“I like it,” Dennis says, and that shuts even Frank up.

“You _do_?” Dee asks incredulously.

“Yeah, sure.” Dennis keeps his voice deliberately calm, his expression neutral. It is so ridiculously easily to manipulate them all, gloating would be a waste. “We can charge a cover, since it counts as a show. It’ll bring in tons of money.”

He hands the flyer back to Frank, who snorts and shakes his head.

“Come on, Charlie, let’s go hang these around town,” Frank says. He and Charlie leave, Charlie still trying to explain his frog and cat riddle while Frank mumbles something about, “An ass is an ass, I don’t get why people get so bent outta shape about who it belongs to.”

Mac looks at Dennis again after they leave. It’s his big-eyed, please-love-me puppy look. If Dennis wasn’t still a little sore and shaky from his hangover he’d slap him right now.

“It was my idea,” Mac says. His attempt at being casual and nonchalant is a fucking joke. “I thought Frank was talking about something else. You know how he is. But the Prince of Pride, that was my idea.”

“I really don’t give a shit,” Dennis says, because suddenly, he doesn’t. “I’m going to go take a nap in the office.”

He circles around the bar, planning to head past Mac without another word, but his body isn’t quite ready for that amount of movement— only because he’s saving energy right now, it’s really an example of his body’s top efficiency— and he stumbles a little. Mac immediately grabs his arms and steadies him.

“Did you eat breakfast today?” Mac demands.

“Yes,” Dennis lies, jerking away from Mac’s hold. If he feels particularly delicate and fragile when Mac holds him like that, it’s only because he is slender and graceful like a gazelle and Mac is bulky and blundering like a rhinoceros. “I ate a great big cock. And it was _delicious_.”

He makes a point of slamming the door to the office. He’s freezing cold and shivering now. He should have gone to the Rover to nap, because then he could turn on the heat, but it’s too late now. He curls up in the dilapidated office chair, trying to tuck his body into itself as much as possible.

Over the chattering of his teeth, Dennis thinks he might hear Dee telling Mac that Dennis didn’t actually go home with anyone the night before. _Dee, you bitch,_ he thinks, and falls asleep planning all sorts of revenge.

When Dennis wakes up later, he’s much warmer. He stretches in the chair, limbs stiff from being all scrunched up, and feels something heavy slide from his shoulders. He opens his eyes and sees it’s the leather duster, tucked fastidiously around his tightly curled limbs.

On the desk in front of him is a glass of water with a lemon wedge floating in it, a banana, and one of his favorite kinds of granola bars. A note, in Mac’s cramped block writing, reads, ‘EAT THE GRANOLA BAR FIRST OR THE BANANA WILL ABSORB ALL THE NUTRIENTS IN YOUR STOMACH.’

Dennis checks the clock. It’s nearing four, which tells him he has been napping for about three hours. The first of the Pride crowd is going to start trickling in around eight, meaning he has plenty of time to go back to his apartment and get ready. He didn’t bother showering at Dee’s— using her budget products on his fair skin would be tantamount to bathing in sand and engine grease.

He stands up and slides his arms into the sleeves of the duster, but then he sits back down in the chair. He reaches for the granola bar. His body is still running at peak efficiency, still conserving energy, but it doesn’t hurt to give it a little boost, especially for what he’s got planned for tonight.

“The Prince of Pride,” Dennis scoffs out loud as he chews. “What is a prince when compared to a god?”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't plan to split this into two chapters but as soon as I started it I realized that was how it was going to go. So NEXT chapter we will finally be getting some (spoilers) smut. Stay tuned!


	4. Saturday Night, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the second night of Philly Pride and Paddy's hosts a Prince of Pride contest. Dennis refuses to have anything to do with it... until one contestant starts getting a little too friendly with Mac. It's Dennis's job after all to hold up the integrity of the bar.

**Saturday Night, Part 1**

Tonight, Dennis is in purple, a torso-hugging button-up shirt paired with tight black pants. His skin glows from a liberal application of shimmering bb cream. It matches the glittery black eyeliner that lends subtle enhancement to the corners of his eyes. His mascara is thick and generous again, his lips slick and plump from a strawberry and mint flavored gloss. 

He looks like goddamn royalty.

Mac was at the apartment when Dennis went home to change, but they stayed out of each other’s way and left for Paddy’s at separate times. Dennis was careful not to say anything about Mac’s choice of wardrobe the previous night in case it provoked him into wearing something truly heinous tonight, like his mesh shirt or, god forbid, one of the Tommy Bahamas.

From what Dennis can see as he walks into Paddy’s, Mac has opted for the same outfit as last night. At least the dark tank top is the same. Dennis can’t see his legs since Mac is standing behind the bar, unboxing bottles of vodka, but he can’t imagine him going back to those baggy blue pants after the jeans that suggested he was finally learning from Dennis’s example on how to dress.

Dee and Charlie are setting up the stage for tonight’s contest, ignoring all of Frank’s attempts to help them. They chat in low voices, heads leaning close together. Charlie patiently shows Dee his own unique way of using a drill and Dee gets excited when telling him about a stage where she once performed a Shakespeare sonnet. Charlie even seems to be listening to her like it isn’t the most mind-numbingly boring story ever told.

Watching them together irritates Dennis for some reason he doesn’t care to identify, and he turns back to Mac. For the price of a six-pack they’ve got Rickety Cricket bringing boxes of liquor up from the basement to replenish the bar, and Mac is telling him what to grab next.

Dennis drops onto a bar stool, lounging against the bar in a way that shows off his long legs. “Can I have a beer?” he asks Mac with a slow, spreading smile.

Mac nearly falls over himself to get him one. “Ya, sure, Den, of course you can.”

And just like that they are friends again. It serves Dennis’s purpose to have Mac back in his control, and he knows exactly how to get him there. He strokes his fingers down the neck of the beer bottle, gazing up at Mac through his lashes.

“So, this Prince of Pride contest,” Dennis purrs. 

“Yeah?” Mac says, practically bouncing with excitement. “I’m judging it.”

“I was think— what?” Dennis straightens on the barstool as that registers. “ _You’re_ judging it?”

“Well, yeah.” Mac blinks at him, weirdly expectant. “I’m the most expert on the male form, after all. I know it more better than anyone, cause I go to the gym every day and I’m super hard and shit.”

Of _course_ Mac is going to judge the Prince of Pride contest. Dennis is a goddamn idiot for not seeing that coming. He blames it on Dee, on her making him sleep in her dumb bed at her dumb apartment and with her dumb shower with the soap in it that was bought at a store that also sells microwaves and shovels. It’s dulled his thinking today, even with the nap. Goddamn it, Dee.

And it’s not like Dennis really thought Mac was going to compete or anything. He had only barely pictured Mac shirtless, with mussed hair, strutting across the stage and wearing those tight jeans hung low on the curve of his ass. Basically he hadn’t thought about it at all.

But _judging_? Goddamit. Dennis is a fucking fool for not planing ahead for that.

Mac doesn’t seem to notice Dennis’s change in demeanor. He still looks excited, hopeful.

“I made myself a badge, look!” Mac reaches under the bar and pulls out a pin he’s painted the word _judge_ on in goddamn glitter. He pins it to his shirt, proud as a little kid showing off a school project.

Finally, he notices Dennis’s look, and his face falls slightly.

“Uh, Dennis?” he asks, rubbing his thumb on the bar in front of him. “Are you gonna compete?”

Dennis continues to sneer at him, lip curling. Is he going to compete. Please. Dennis wouldn’t compete, he would win. There is no question about it. When it comes to picking the perfect man, Dennis is the only option. But he doesn’t want to be the goddamn Prince of Pride, and he doesn’t want to watch a bunch of fucking douchebags debase themselves trying to win Mac’s favor either. This whole thing is fucked, and Dennis opens his mouth to say so when the door to Paddy’s open and a wave of gay men pour into the bar.

“Customers!” Mac nearly squeals, childishly excited once more. He darts for the door like he’s greeting goddamn Jesus Christ himself. And that’s when Dennis actually gets a look at Mac’s full outfit.

Mac isn’t wearing those tight jeans. Far from it. He is wearing booty shorts.

Dennis supposes they could be called athletic shorts, if they were on someone a lot younger with a lot less legs and ass than Mac. They are bright red with curved hems that ride high on Mac’s thighs, exposing the slutty little shamrock tattoo Dennis _told_ him was bad idea back when they were seventeen. If Mac bends over he’ll probably show some asscheek and the group of guys who have just entered Paddy’s clearly know it.

“Oh my god, you’re judging the contest?” one flirty voice asks, and it takes all of Dennis’s impressive self-discipline to remind himself he is above all of this trash. With razor sharp calm he puts himself behind the bar and starts to pour drinks. He smiles at customers and makes conversation, while in his head he judges all of them. And if they give him weird looks, or don’t really respond to his chatter, or seem a little frightened by his expression, that’s their problem.

Dee joins him behind the bar and Dennis remembers he’s mad at her, though he doesn’t really remember why. He spills a drink down her back and sets the hem of her shirt on fire with a match, just to cover his bases, but then he lets her in on the game of judging the customers. Soon, they’re making up elaborate backstories for every guy who approaches the bar, voices getting louder and louder which each drink they consume. It keeps Dennis mostly distracted from watching Mac in his tiny shorts sashay around Paddy’s like he owns the place.

The more customers realize Mac is judging the Prince of Pride contest, the more attention he gets. There’s a constant stream of guys buying him drinks, and Dennis may just happen to follow him into the bathroom whenever he goes to make sure the glory hole isn’t getting any use.

He still doesn’t _care_ what Mac does, but he wants to know about it. It’s for Mac’s benefit that he know about it. 

By the time the contest starts, Paddy’s is buzzing with drunken, horny energy. Mac gets a seat of honor in front of the stage on a bar stool someone has draped with rainbow Mardi Gras beads. Frank is hacking his way through some sort of self-elected emcee role, stomping about the stage and announcing each competitor. Mac keeps looking over his shoulder at Dennis like he expects him to suddenly jump onto the bar and burst into song or something. Dennis keeps primly wiping out glasses and stacking them behind the bar as if he is completely oblivious to the veritable strip show starting fifteen feet away from him.

He’d hoped Dee would stay behind the bar with him and keep coming up with sordid pasts for each contestant, but she had looked at him with her eyes bugging out and said, “Uhhhh, Dennis, hot guys getting naked? Yeah, like I’m gonna stand back here” then bolted for the stage. Dennis can hear her now, whooping embarrassingly each time a new guy climbs up on stage and takes off his shirt.

Charlie was similarly useless. He’d been game to participate, but he kept guessing people had jobs like Gnome Specialist or Professional Magazine Reader, so Dennis gave up. He’s not going to watch this stupid contest, even if he’s the only person capable of being an intellectual right now. He’s used to that. He’s not going to watch the contest, no matter what.

If he looks up at a particularly loud shriek from Dee, it’s only animal instinct. Dee having fun sounds a lot like any other woman being brutally murdered, so it’s only because Dennis is such an alpha male that her howling draws his attention. 

As soon as he does look up, he regrets it.

The guy showing off his goods on stage right now took Frank’s shitty poster way too literally. He is actually wearing a cowboy hat. He keeps grabbing it as he does some sort of body roll that is clearly meant to show off all twelve of his abs and also make everyone watching think of sex. It’s tacky, it’s unsophisticated, and it only gets worse when he pops the button on his low-slung jeans.

Dennis is ready to roll his eyes and get back to ignoring such a sleazy, baseless display when the cowboy hat-wearing jack-off jumps off the stage and puts his hands on Mac’s shoulders. And really, what the _fuck_.

This was supposed to be some dumb contest, where maybe a few guys took their shirts off and everyone had a good time wolf-whistling and waving a few dollar bills and then that was it. This was _not_ supposed to be a goddamn live sex show where some cowboy asshat thrusts his dick in Mac’s face and Mac puts his hands on the douchebags’s hips.

Dennis is out from behind the bar before he even realizes he’s moving. He’s furious, the rage burning through his entire body from head to toe. He’s not going to stoop to compete in this goddamn contest, but he still has respect for the integrity of the thing. And this cowboy is flagrantly cheating, grinding himself on Mac’s lap, tossing his head back like he’s in the throes of ecstasy. It has all the believability of one of Frank’s whores shrieking her way through orgasm, but Mac seems to be buying into it. His hands are still on the slutty cowboy’s skin, embarrassing himself and the rest of Paddy’s along with him. 

Dennis will not stand for it.

He reaches Mac and cover Mac’s hands with his own, dragging them from the shitdick’s over-oiled skin. If he happens to leave some scratches behind with his nails, then that’s just a bonus. Mac is too startled to pull some ultimately futile move of resistance, and Dennis pushes his advantage by wrenching Mac’s hands behind his back and using them to haul him from the bar stool.

Dennis shoves Mac across the sticky bar floor towards the back office. A discontented murmur rolls through the crowd as they realize their judge is being dragged away from them. Frank suddenly looms in front of Dennis and Mac, blocking their path like a bridge troll.

“What the shit are you two dickheads doing?” he demands. “We’re in the middle of the contest. We still gotta pick the winner!”

“Fuck your contest,” Dennis says before Mac can open his stupid mouth. “You pick the winner. I don’t give a shit.”

He pushes past Frank, throwing Mac into the door of the office before he can open it and shove Mac inside. Behind him, he hears Frank say into the microphone, “Right, who wants to win this thing? Raise your hand if you know any whores. Lady whores.”

Mac stumbles into the desk in the office as Dennis lets him go, and Dennis slams the door. The sounds from the rest of the bar seem to drop away, and for a moment all Dennis can hear is Mac’s too-fast breathing and the fiery thudding of his own heart.

Mac is leaning back against the desk, gripping its edge, but Dennis puts his hands on him and gives him a shove anyway. It forces Mac’s shoulders back and he scrabbles to steady himself, sending his hips arching toward Dennis.

Dennis grabs those too and slams them backward into the desk. Mac’s breathing is even harsher now, like he’s been running, and he stares at Dennis with wide, shocked eyes. Dennis drinks in his expression, watching each minute change as he takes his hands from Mac and brings them up to the top button of his own shirt.

He’s waiting for Mac to speak, to ruin this with his boorishness, but Mac doesn’t say anything. His eyes are flickering desperately between Dennis’s fingers and his face. Dennis undoes the first button. Then another. And another.

Mac is shaking, his knuckles turning white as he holds onto the desk like it’s the only thing keeping him standing. To no one’s surprise he is hard, his erection ridiculously obvious in his thin red shorts.

“Is this what you wanted?” Dennis taunts as he reaches the last few buttons on his shirt. “Wanted a bunch of hot guys to take their clothes off for you?”

He pushes the shirt open, exposing his torso to Mac’s hungry gaze. His nipples are pebbled and prominent. Dennis knows how attractive they look, how they practically begging for attention.

“You wanted to see _me_ do this, didn’t you?” Dennis slides the shirt further open, letting his delicate collar bones and milky white shoulders take the spotlight. “When that cowboy shithole was grinding on you, you were imaging it was me, weren’t you?”

He jerks the shirt down to his elbows and Mac sucks in a pained gasp. He’s looking all over now, from Dennis’s body to his face to around the office, as if he is hoping for something else to appear and distract him. But there is no one here but Dennis, and Dennis isn’t giving him a moment’s break. Mac’s attention is intoxicating, heady and seductive like a long draw on a joint, and Dennis is gonna get good and high on it. He drops the shirt to the floor. Mac’s gaze snaps back to his face like a gunshot.

“What else have you imagined me doing?” Dennis growls, taking a step forward. “Have you pictured me going to my knees for you?” Mac’s makes a sound like he’s been stabbed, and Dennis can’t stop himself from grinning. He steps closer, a predator closing in on his prey. “Have you pictured me on my back for you?”

Dennis presses himself to Mac’s front, using his body weight to hold him still against the desk, pushing his erection into the crook of Mac’s thigh. Mac doesn’t struggle, but he does turn his face away from Dennis, closing his eyes. Dennis almost crows with delight. It’s practically a surrender, the prey exposing its weak and vulnerable neck. Dennis leans in for the kill.

“I’ll do it,” Dennis whispers in Mac’s ear. “You can have me, anyway you want. On my knees. On my back. Tied up and begging for it.” Mac chokes, throat working like he’s trying not to cry. Dennis delivers the final blow. “All you have to do is ask.” 

Dennis pulls back, achingly hard himself, and fully ready to luxuriate in whatever desperate thing Mac does in an attempt to save himself from his own desires this time. Any rejection tonight is Dennis's doing, his design, and he is going to savor it.

Mac is gasping like he’s been held underwater. He stares at Dennis with eyes that reflect the heat inside his own body— a scorching, blistering fire. Dennis smirks, and nearly comes from this alone. Mac is completely at his disposal, utterly vulnerable. Dennis imagines this is what it must feel like to be a murderer just before stabbing your victim and feeling their blood rush out over your hands.

Then Mac moves and Dennis knows he’s going to be hit. His heart rate kicks impossibly higher and he grins in anticipation of the blow. But Mac doesn’t hit him in the face, the way Dennis would if he were in Mac’s position. He hits him in the stomach instead, a surprisingly swift and vicious blow that knocks Dennis forward, a blow that is immediately followed by Mac’s mouth crashing down over his.

Dennis wasn't expecting to be kissed. That can be the only explanation for the way his brain immediately short-circuits and his hands go without his permission to gripping the back of Mac’s shirt. Mac kisses with ferocity and focus and far more skill than Dennis would have thought possible. He has his tongue in Dennis’s mouth and his hand in Dennis’s hair before Dennis can really register what is happening. He still has almost all of his weight on Mac, but Mac is taking it like its nothing, rolling his body up off the desk and into Dennis, completely in control.

Dennis rips his mouth away, floundering to find his feet again. A blistering thrill shoots through him when he realizes Mac had pulled him onto his tiptoes. But Mac isn’t getting out of this so easily. He isn’t going to stick his tongue down Dennis’s throat then walk away like nothing happened.

Dennis opens his mouth, trusting himself to come up with something acerbic and clever on the fly, but Mac surprises him again.

“I want it,” Mac says, grabbing at Dennis with his oversized hands and hauling him forward like he’s a ragdoll. He puts his lips on Dennis’s neck, and somehow he knows right where Dennis is the most sensitive so it really isn’t Dennis’s fault for going limp again and maybe even moaning a bit. “God fucking help me. I want it.”

Dennis tries to respond to that but Mac is kissing him again. This is how Dennis deserves to be kissed every goddamn day, greedy and worshipful like he’s the best thing that Mac has ever tasted. Dennis would have expected Mac to be tentative, to be a fucking coward, but he actually kisses like he means it, and he’s pulling Dennis even tighter into his body, and he has his hands on Dennis’s ass, and he’s pushing Dennis up against the office door…

Dennis throws his arms up, hoping Mac will get the hint and grab onto his wrists, when suddenly he remembers where they are and what’s going on just outside the door. Mac’s band of Prince of Pride groupies are still out there in the bar, still likely waiting to curry favor with the judge in the ridiculously small red shorts. But he will come out of the office with Dennis, his lips swollen and his hair mussed, and it will be obvious what happened.

Dennis takes a moment to entertain the thought of parading Mac out into the bar in front of everyone, Dennis’s hand clamped on his shoulder, marking his work. But Mac is kissing his neck again and rubbing at his thigh and Dennis remembers what he made Mac admit just moments ago.

Mac is exactly where Dennis wants him, pliable and needy even as he’s the one sucking a hickey into Dennis’s bare shoulder and making Dennis groan. Showing him off right now, while delightful, would be a waste, especially when Mac seems primed to be pushed even further, to offer up even more.

Dennis pulls away and stoops to pick up his shirt from the floor. Mac, single-minded as always, keeps clinging to him, peppering his back with sloppy open-mouthed kisses.

“Stop it!” Dennis shouts, because even a man with all the self-control in the world— which Dennis is— would have a hard time not giving in to that. Mac freezes at his yell, brows drawing together in an expression of hurt that makes him look about six years old. Dennis quickly shrugs into his shirt and puts his hands on Mac’s face.

“Not here, baby,” he says softly, stroking Mac’s cheeks with his thumbs. “I want you too, but not here, okay?”

Mac nods dumbly, and Dennis fights the urge to smile and crack the tender expression on his face. He knew Mac would agree to anything Dennis suggested if he used this tone of voice and touched him with such rare gentleness.

“Good, that’s good, baby,” Dennis encourages, building up him up for the moment of truth. “Let’s go home.”

Mac agrees to that with another nod and Dennis almost goes weak in the knees from the rush of power that courses through him like wildfire. He hastily buttons his shirt and wrenches open the door of the office.

The patrons in the bar pretend to ignore them by continuing to chat and drink as Dennis and Mac plow through Paddy’s, but Dennis knows all their eyes are secretly on him. He resists the sudden urge to grab Mac by the hand as they make their beeline for the door. Mac has gone further than Dennis ever expected tonight, but he still might spook easily like a wild animal and Dennis doesn’t want to take the chance and ruin this now.

Rickety Cricket is the only one who addresses them directly. Well, Dee says something too but it sounds like it might be a complaint so Dennis tunes it out, like he does all of her useless squawking.

“Are you fucking or fighting?” Rickety Cricket yells at them as they pass him at the front door. “Fucking or fighting? I have three whole dollars riding on it!”

Dennis slams the door to Paddy’s behind them without answering. He wants to get Mac home as fast as possible, before whatever this spell of silence and acquiescence that Mac is under wears off. He all but tosses him into the passenger seat of the Rover and stomps the gas the second he gets his own door closed.

Dennis doesn’t even bother to change the radio station or turn on his own music, speeding towards their apartment with a million other thoughts whirling through his brain in a flickering, sparking storm.

Neither he nor Mac say a word for the entirety of the short car ride. Some pop song plays from the radio, a young female voice filling the car with lyrics that seem coincidentally in support of their silence.

 _Don’t speak, just use your touch,_ Dennis hears the song say. _Don’t speak before we say too much._

He looks over at Mac. In the light from the dashboard his eyelashes look especially long and dark, and his lips are the color of a bruise. 

_You hate me now and I feel the same way_  
_You love me now and I feel the same way_  
_Scream and we shout_  
_And make up the same day, same day_  


They reach the apartment. Dennis puts the car in park but hesitates a moment before turning it off. There’s a breathless anticipation to the moment, like a glass that’s been dropped but has yet to hit the floor. It is very possible that before the end of the night one of them will shatter.

_Oh, we're on the right side of rock bottom_  
_And I hope that we keep falling_  
_We're on the good side of bad karma_  
_'Cause we keep on coming back for more_  


Dennis turns off the engine. 

He and Mac don’t look at each other. 

They go inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I _promise_ I keep trying to make these assholes have sex with each other but they keep taking their sweet time getting there. Next chapter will earn us an explicit rating, so help me.
> 
> Lyrics in this chapter (and title of the fic) from the song Rock Bottom by Hailee Steinfeld. It was a bit of a struggle to pick which lyrics to include and which to leave out, because the whole thing is MacDennis gold.
> 
> I've got a move-to-a-new-city coming up in the next fews days, so while I would love to have this completed before the next season airs, I can't be totally certain it will happen. But I'm gonna try.
> 
> If you want to experience more of my emotions regarding these two idiots in the meantime, hop on over to my tumblr [here](http://lightning-and-a-lightning-bug.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thanks!


	5. Saturday Night, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in high school, Mac sold pot for six months before he ever had a joint.

**Saturday Night, Part 2**

Back in high school, Mac sold pot for six months before he ever had a joint. Dennis didn’t even need Mac to admit it to him two years later in his basement while Dee puked in the bathroom and Charlie lay passed out on the floor. It was obvious Mac got into selling pot for the attention and illusion of having friends, not because he had any appreciation for the drug. He was clearly a drinker and a huffer, and not just because he hung around with Dirtgrub Charlie Kelly, but because he lacked the finesse and sophistication it took to roll a joint.  
Dennis made a point of showing him the first time he bought pot from Mac.

“Smoke it with me,” he demanded, standing in the crisp autumn air beneath the stadium bleachers.

“Uhhh,” Mac said, “I don’t usually sample the product, cause I’m like, a business man, so—”

“Come on,” Dennis cajoled. He pulled out his rolling papers, noting the way Mac’s gaze followed his tongue as he licked the edges. He rolled a frankly abysmal joint, but it didn’t matter because he acted like it was awesome and Mac totally bought it. Dennis didn’t tell him he’d only learned how to do this himself from Dee two weeks ago.

They passed the joint back and forth until it was nearly gone. Dennis felt warm and full there standing in the dirt, the nearly constant buzzing in his brain quieted to a gentle hum. He looked over at Mac, leaning against the bleachers with his head tilted back, dark eyes staring into the late afternoon sun.

“I wonder what God would think if he saw me now,” Mac mumbled.

Dennis was young and high and couldn’t stop himself from answering. “Don’t worry,” he said. “He thinks you’re beautiful.”

Then Dennis leaned over and Mac reared back.

“What are you doing?” he shouted. There was fear and something else in his eyes that made Dennis’s blood sing. He grabbed the joint from Mac’s hand and took another long drag.

“It’s called shotgunning,” he said quickly. “It’s cool. It’s hardcore.”

He leaned in again. Mac’s eyes stayed open, terrified, but he didn't move away. Dennis brought up his thumb to gently part Mac’s lips then brushed them with his own and breathed smoke right into his open mouth. And Mac— dumb, god-fearing, non-smoking, gay-hating Mac— just stood there and let him do it.

Dennis jacked off to that moment for years afterwards, to way he felt so incredibly powerful and alive.

It’s a similar feeling rising in his gut right now as Mac kisses him in the living room of their apartment.

They had remained silent all the way up the stairs and while entering the apartment. Mac locked the door like it might keep God’s eyes out then rounded on Dennis.

“Fuck you,” he spat with such anger Dennis expected to be hit again. Mac took two steps forward and grabbed him by the neck, dragging him forward so he could hiss in his ear. “Fuck. You.” 

He kissed Dennis like his life depended on it. He’s still kissing him now, even as he claws at Dennis’s shirt and yanks his own off over his head. Part of Dennis wants to slow it down, draw this out so he can enjoy it. He wants to watch Mac watch him as he strips, slowly, like he started to in Paddy’s back room.

But that part of him fucks off pretty damn fast when Mac drops to his knees and goes straight for Dennis’s dick. He has Dennis’s pants unzipped and his mouth wrapped around Dennis’s cock before Dennis can even get his hands into Mac’s over-greased hair. 

And it’s _good_. It’s really good. Dennis doesn’t even need to guide Mac’s head like he does with most people who suck him off. There’s tongue and there’s suction and there’s hot wet lips, and oh god, Dennis’s calves are cramping as he has to work to stay standing with just how _fucking_ good—

Dennis tightens his fingers in Mac’s hair and yanks his head back. Mac strains forward, still trying to mouth at Dennis’s cock, and though it might be the single hottest thing Dennis has ever seen he doesn’t give in.

“You’ve done this before,” he growls at Mac.

Mac takes a shuddering breath and stares at the floor. “No,” he says, then winces as Dennis pulls harder on his hair. “Well, maybe. I was blackout drunk, though. I don’t remember.”

Dennis is achingly hard, and the sight of Mac blushing on his knees is almost too much, but he has to know. “How many times?”

“I don’t know.”

Dennis growls again, deep in his throat. “I will stop this right now.”

Mac groans. “Four, maybe five.”

“Next time we do this,” Dennis murmurs, blood pounding in his ears, barely aware of what he’s saying, “You will describe each one of them to me, in detail, and for each one I will think of an appropriate punishment.”

Mac groans again, even louder, and palms desperately at his own crotch. His eyes flick up to Dennis’s, and that’s it, that’s all Dennis can take.

“Get up here,” he orders, hauling Mac to his feet as he says it. He leans in, but he waits for Mac to be the one to close the distance and kiss him.

Mac does it without hesitation, like the good boy Dennis always knew he could be. And Dennis doesn’t think he could ever get tired of this, of Mac gasping into his mouth like Dennis is his oxygen, of Mac wrapping his arms around him like Dennis is the most precious thing in the world. His puts his hands on Mac’s ass and Mac shoves his hips against Dennis’s, grinding their crotches together. His tongue, still heavy with the taste of Dennis, is everywhere, in Dennis’s mouth and on his skin.

Dennis could stay here forever, spend the rest of his life in this frantic, filthy make-out session, where the anticipation has nearly reached critical, but hasn’t quite crossed the line yet. But he’s not letting Mac get comfortable here. Not when there is still so much further Dennis could push him.

He pulls his mouth away from where he was sucking on the juncture of Mac’s neck and licks a path up to his ear. “This all you got?” he hisses.

Mac leans back with just his torso, keeping their lower halves locked together. Dennis expects to see rage in his face, Mac’s go-to emotion when he’s feeling threatened or out of his depth. But instead of looking furious, Mac smiles. And not a “I’m gonna fuck you up” kind of smile like Dennis would use in his place. Mac smiles with a genuine, blinding grin.

And before Dennis can make sense of _that_ Mac is sliding his hands down Dennis’s back beneath his ass and he’s hoisting Dennis in the air. And Dennis does _not_ let out an undignified squawk, it’s just a high-pitched but still sexy moan. And sure, he might wrap his legs around Mac’s waist and his arms around his shoulders, but it’s not because lust shoots through him with such ferocity he wants to burrow under Mac’s skin, but because he remembers the last time Mac tried to lift him up and what a disaster that was.

Mac must have listened to Dennis for once, however, and taken to heart his constant jabs about not working his core, because he isn’t struggling as he carries Dennis the few feet into Dennis’s bedroom, even as Dennis is writhing in his grip and frantically kissing his neck, because he needs to reward this kind of behavior, because Mac should pick him up like this every day from now until the end of time.

Mac does drop him somewhat unceremoniously on his back on the bed, but Dennis can forgive him for that when he follows it by immediately tearing open Dennis’s jeans and dragging them down his legs. Dennis shoves his hands under Mac’s stupid tiny shorts, and Mac takes the hints pushes those off as well.

They’ve been fully naked in front of each other half a dozen times before this, and Dennis has often taken the opportunity to flaunt himself a little bit, knowing Mac is looking and admiring, but this feels different. Mac is bracing himself on his hands with his elbows locked, holding himself above Dennis, and the posture highlights that he really has been working out more lately. Dennis can’t stop himself from tracing his hands over Mac’s biceps, marveling at how much tanner and bigger Mac seems than him. 

He looks away, suddenly self-conscious. Of course, Dennis normally has the figure of Michelangelo’s _David_ , but it has been a little while since he’s eaten much resembling a meal, and the gym often makes him too angry because of all the obnoxious people in it doing obnoxious things, or else he gets a little faint on some of the machines, which is clearly a design flaw on their part…So instead of ten out of ten he might only be a nine-point-nine out of ten right now and Dennis would rather slit his own throat than have Mac judge his body and find him wanting.

He opens his mouth to snarl something that will put a stop to this so he can go lock himself in the bathroom and get rid of this ugly feeling inside of him, but Mac beats him to it.

“God,” Mac whispers, eyes raking over Dennis like he’s never seen him before. It sounds both like a summons and a prayer. “God, you are so fucking perfect.”

He drops his head down and kisses Dennis, deep and slow, and Dennis melts into the mattress. Mac melts with him, his body pressing down onto Dennis, a hot, heavy weight. Dennis should feel trapped, suffocated, like he does when women want to cuddle or drunk people at the bar try to hug him. But he doesn’t. With Mac all over and around him, he feels oddly comforted, and safe, and calm.

That is, until Mac stops kissing him, puts his mouth on Dennis’s ear, and says with total certainly, “I’m going to fuck you now.”

Dennis thinks he might black out for a second. When he comes back to himself, both his hands are gripping the headboard and his legs are spread open wide like he’s a goddamn whore. Mac is kissing and licking his way down Dennis’s chest. He lavishes all the attention on Dennis’s nipples that they deserve, sucking and even biting a little until Dennis is shaking from it. It’s only when Mac moves down to his stomach that he is able to collet himself enough to ask, “What if I want to fuck you?”

He means it to sound like a demand, but his voice comes out thin and trembling. Mac is trailing fingers down the cut of Dennis hips with such rapture that Dennis can’t really be blamed for how loudly he’s been moaning.

“Later,” Mac answers, his voice even more wrecked than Dennis’. “I can’t— I need you too badly, Den.”

Dennis’s hips move of their own accord, arching off the bed and into Mac as a whine escape his throat. Mac groans loudly in response. He grabs a pillow and shoves it under Dennis’s hips, then bites down hard on Dennis’s thigh. Dennis jumps, his blood singing and legs spreading involuntarily wider. Mac soothes the spot with his tongue and Dennis hopes desperately it leaves a mark.

“Come on, baby,” he encourages, letting go of the headboard so he can touch every bit of Mac he can reach. Mac’s whole body rolls into Dennis, his back and ass flexing deliciously. His cock is rock hard against Dennis’s leg, and when he moves again with another groan Dennis half-expects Mac is just going to shove it inside him right then without any prep whatsoever.

In theory, the idea is crazy hot, but Dennis knows the reality of it would be a different story. He flinches, starts to say something as Mac’s huge hands come down on his thighs and hold them open, but his head flies back instead and he has to stop himself from ripping out any of Mac’s hair as Mac licks his dick from root to tip, then dips lower and plunges his tongue inside Dennis’s ass.

It’s beyond intimate, beyond any kind of sex Dennis has had before, because this is _Mac_ and he’s willingly doing this, he’s mouthing at Dennis’s asshole like he’s trying to climb inside of him, like it’s everything Mac has ever wanted in life. Dennis doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry at how amazing this is, at how much he deserves this, until Mac adds two fingers along with his tongue. It feels even better— far _too much_ better.

Fury washes over Dennis in a wave. He's so mad, he tries to sit up, but Mac holds him down easily with his hands spread over Dennis’s thighs.

“Relax, Den,” Mac soothes, because of course he is misunderstanding the situation. “I’ve done this with Carmen tons of time.”

“Don’t you dare mention her name!” Dennis shrieks. He’s still squirming, and it’s because he is trying to get away, not because he’s moving with the motions of Mac’s fingers, coaxing him deeper. “In this bed… in our house… don’t you dare—”

Mac’s fingers hit his prostate then, and Dennis loses the ability to speak. He arches off the bed with something like a sob. It’s all he can do not to come right then and there. Mac is still reassuring him and kissing him and holding him and apologizing to him all at once. It’s completely overwhelming, and completely perfect.

Dennis clutches at his bed sheets as Mac leans over him to rifle in the bedside drawer for the lube and a condom. He knows exactly where they are from all the times he’s watched Dennis’s videos, Dennis realizes, because Mac has seen Dennis like this before, except Dennis has never been like _this_ before.

Mac is kissing him again, kissing his lips and his neck and his chest, and telling him how beautiful he is, how perfect. And Dennis has never been this worshipped, or this open, or this desperate in his life. He might not even be Dennis anymore. He doesn’t own this body. He’s half outside of it, fragile and shaking, halfway to being nothing at all.

Then Mac pushes inside of him and Dennis slams back to himself. He is God, he is the sun, he is everything in between. This is what he is meant to be. This is his apotheosis.

“Yes, baby,” he hears himself saying. “Yes, that’s so good. You’re so good, baby.”

All Mac seems to be capable of saying is, “Dennis.” He’s repeating it like a benediction, and it is the best goddamn sound Dennis has ever heard in his life.

Mac finds his rhythm quickly and Dennis matches it with ease. This is sex like he’s never experienced it before. This is getting fucked, in the way Dennis was made to be fucked. It’s rough and tender at the same time, sloppy and yet oddly delicate, every contradiction that makes up Mac the man now pouring into Dennis with each thrust of Mac’s cock.

He scratches at Mac’s back, hoping to leave marks so this will last for Mac for days afterwards. He would claw his way to the bone and carve his name there if it were possible. Mac might be acting like the dominant one here, Dennis laid open beneath him and begging for more, but this is Dennis’s show. He’s pulling the strings. This isn’t Dennis breaking down, this isn’t Dennis giving in to a long-held desire, this isn’t Dennis finally admitting to both of them this is something he’s wanted for years and years. Mac needs to remember this, to remember the power Dennis has over him, to remember what he did in deference to his one true God.

Dennis has never felt quite as content as he does now, his body like liquid flame, melting into the bed even as Mac’s speed increases, the force of his thrusts pushing Dennis up the bed. He would have cracked his head on the headboard if Mac hadn’t grabbed his shoulder then and hauled him back down onto his cock. Dennis feels so good he almost forgets about coming until Mac snakes his other hand between them and wraps it around Dennis’s dick.

“Come on,” Mac mutters. His next thrust brings him to eye-level with Dennis. His face is furrowed with concentration, his hair hanging over his eyes. It’s so Mac, this dogged determination to achieve a goal, and Dennis wants to make fun of him for it, but for some reason he can’t find the words.

“Come on,” Mac says again, thrusting so hard Dennis sees stars. Mac is impossibly deep inside of him, and when he leans down to touch their foreheads together Dennis can no longer tell whose body is whose. “Come for me, baby.”

And maybe it’s hearing his own term of endearment fall from Mac’s lips, or maybe it’s the expert way Mac his twisting his hand around Dennis’s cock, or maybe it’s that this has been a long time in the making, but like goddamn porn star Dennis comes right on Mac’s command.

The pleasure is so intense it hurts. Dennis can’t even focus on the fact that Mac gave him an order and his body obeyed without question, because he’s too busy breaking into a thousand tiny pieces of white-hot sensation.

It goes on for so long he almost misses Mac’s climax. His body is still shaking as his cranes his head up to find Mac’s lips. He has to be kissing him for this. He needs to taste Mac’s orgasm, taste everything Mac is feeling because of him. _This is mine_ he thinks as Mac moans into his mouth. _I created this. I own it._

Mac finishes with a shudder, his body fully covering Dennis, still inside of him. The only sounds in the room are both of their slowing breaths. Dennis feels suddenly cold, despite Mac’s warmth. He tries not to move even as his muscles start to twitch with the aftermath of so much exertion.

Dennis knows what happens now. Mac will pull out of him, and then he’ll vanish in a cloud of shame and self-hate. When Mac gets out of this bed, this is over. And it’s not like Dennis wants to cuddle or anything, for fuck’s sake, but he doesn’t want this power trip to end. He became a true god tonight, and going back to being a mere mortal is not going to be pleasant.

Mac shifts, groans, and starts to pull away. Dennis’s arms move reflexively to hold him in place, but he stops himself. He won’t appear desperate. If Mac is going to act like nothing happened between, then so will Dennis. He’ll do it even better, too. He has iron control over his emotions after all, and Mac does not.

Still, the feeling of Mac pulling out of Dennis’s body isn’t a good one. It leaves him feeling small and weak. He lies perfectly still as Mac heaves himself off the bed and throws the condom away in the trash can. It’s only when Mac walks out of the room without a word that Dennis curls in on himself, tucking his limbs in as tightly as possible.

If there are tears in the corner of Dennis’s eyes, it’s just a combination of alcohol and sex. If he feels sick to his stomach, it’s only because he hasn’t eaten in a while. If he feels cold and lonely and broken, it’s only because he’s coming down from feeling such immense power. This is how he normally feels, it must be, it only seems like it’s awful because he was riding so high a moment ago.

Dennis jumps when he feels hands on his skin. He was so caught up in feeling perfectly fine he didn’t notice Mac come back into the room.

“Turn over, Den,” Mac murmurs, and Dennis, still confused and caught off-guard, does it without question. Something warm and soft is dragged down Dennis’s back and into the cleft of his ass and he realizes at last what’s happening. Mac is cleaning him, wiping him down with a wet towel like Mac is an antique collector and Dennis is his most precious an valuable item. Mac is thorough and fastidious, and this time when he leaves Dennis listens to him rinse the towel and hang it up to dry so he isn’t taken by surprise when Mac comes back to the room. 

Dennis hasn’t moved. This is off-script now. This isn’t a part of the plan. When Mac hesitates in the doorway, Dennis has no idea what is going to happen next.

“Did I hurt you?” Mac asks.

“What?” That gets Dennis to lift his head. Or at least he tries to lift his head. It suddenly appears to weigh several hundred pounds and it’s impossible to get it to budge from the pillow. “Of course not.”

“Good.” Mac heaves a blustery sigh of relief and smiles that same smile from before, wide and bright and innocent. He stomps right back over to the bed and climbs in like he's been given an invitation, carefully arranging the covers to his liking, then, when Dennis still hasn’t moved, carefully arranging Dennis. He rolls him onto his side, and puts both arms around him, pulling Dennis’s back into his warm and solid front.

“That was incredible, dude,” Mac breathes into his ear, and Dennis wants to laugh at how stupid he sounds, except his eyes are now closed and his breathing is slow and even. Dennis feels heavy and safe and grounded, like he’s real, like he’s actually tethered to something for once, not seconds away from vanishing into thin air. Mac kisses his neck and his shoulder and Dennis can’t help himself— he pushes into him. Just a little. Just enough to remind them both that Dennis is the one in control here, even as he falls into a deep and dreamless sleep, wrapped securely in Mac’s arms.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so so sorry it took me so long to post this chapter. Some major life changes happened (all in a good way, which is unusual but wonderful!) and I lost track of my muse for this one for a while. Because I wanted to get this chapter to you all as soon as it was done, it might have some editing mistakes in it, which I hope you'll forgive me for.
> 
> Also, bonus, will we have another chapter titled 'Sunday' as an epilogue of sorts, which I hope to publish with a wee bit more speed then I did this chapter.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis hates being the first one awake.

** Sunday Morning **

Dennis hates being the first one awake.

He hated it when he was a kid, and Dee would lie there snoring away while he clenched his fists and tried not to wrap them around her stupid throat, just for something to do. He hated it in college, when his roommate would be blissfully sprawled out on his bed, and Dennis sat up wide awake with energy buzzing under his skin. His roommate would get so irrationally angry if Dennis even dared breathe too loudly, always accusing him of “making too much noise” and “playing David Bowie at full volume before six am” and “fucking screaming like a fucking pyscho.”

Dennis hates being the first one awake now as he lies in his own bed with his best friend, who held him down and fucked him last night. It was everything Dennis wanted. He owned Mac, broke down all his hesitations and his protests until Mac was _begging_ to be inside of him. He made Mac come so hard he passed the fuck out and he’s still asleep now, flat on his back with one arm curled around Dennis.

Dennis hates that he is the one awake first, because he has to witness this. He has to see Mac with his rumpled hair and his dark eye lashes looking so very young and peaceful. He has to feel the heat of Mac’s sleeping body against his side, how the weight and presence of him makes Dennis feel small and slight. Dennis hates being awake, because he has to know how good this feels.

He’s a little bit nauseous and his head his pounding, which is normal after a night of light eating and heavy drinking. A couple aspirin, a piece of toast, some whisky in his coffee will take care of it, but even with a budding hangover he feels comfortable. He feels relaxed. And that is such a rare feeling for him he hates it, and he hates Mac for giving it to him because he knows as soon as Mac wakes up he’s gonna take it away.

Dennis might have won last night but he knows in the harsh light of the morning Mac is going to undo all his hard work. He’s gonna talk a lot of bullshit, and probably throw some punches, and Dennis is going to have to start all over again.

Mac shifts and Dennis’s stomach drops because he isn’t ready yet for it all to ruined. Mac is always fucking ruining things for Dennis.

“Hnngmfp,” is Mac’s first word of the morning. Eyes still closed, he rolls on to his side, putting both arms around Dennis and pulling him even closer. Their legs tangled together and Dennis can feel Mac’s morning erection pushing gently at his hip. It sparks a jolt deep inside of him. Maybe he can use this to his advantage. Maybe his reign doesn’t have to be over just yet.

But before Dennis can take action, before he can try sucking Mac off or even just grabbing at his dick, Mac opens his eyes and looks directly into Dennis’s face.

“Morning, Den,” Mac says sleepily. And he smiles. And Mac’s smile is so soft, it’s so content and unaffected, and Dennis is so relaxed, he can’t help but smile back.

Mac leans forward, and Dennis’s lips part involuntarily. Mac hums appreciatively, but when he kisses Dennis, it is one tiny peck. Right on the tip of his nose.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Mac says, rolling away and heaving himself out of the bed. “I won’t take too long, I promise.” He gives Dennis a half-pat, half-punch on the shoulder, like they both aren’t completely naked, like his dick isn’t standing at an impressive half-mast, like that same dick wasn’t inside of Dennis less than eight hours before.

Mac leaves the room and Dennis lies back, stunned. What game is Mac playing? Is he trying to get back at Dennis for making him drop the I’m-not-gay-I-just-like-naked-men-and-want-to-have-sex-with-them act he’s been holding on to for so long? Does he think he’s going to be able to mastermind some sort of revenge?

Or maybe… a thought hits Dennis that makes him feel sick and cold. Maybe this isn’t a game at all. Maybe Mac thinks he is over this now. He had sex with Dennis Reynolds last night. The Golden God. His white whale. Maybe now that the fantasy is real, now that Mac’s biggest ‘what if’ has been answered, he’s lost interest. He thinks he can move on.

But no one loses interest in Dennis Reynolds, especially not Mac fucking McDonald who has been dying to get Dennis’s dick since they were sixteen years old. Not Mac who was so desperate and confused he had to resort to a stupid Prince of Pride contest just to get his hands on a few beefcakes that didn’t even come close to Dennis’s level.

Dennis’s mind is suddenly filled with images of Mac at a different gay bar, surrounded by simpering men telling him he’s hot, telling him his dance moves aren’t terrible, telling him his clothing and styling choices aren’t atrocious. And Mac’s gonna buy it. He’s going to believe every word. He had sex with Dennis after all, the number one ultimate fantasy. He might as well have sex with everyone else who falls lower on his list.

Dennis can’t have that. He won’t. He _fucking goddamn won’t._ He launches himself out of bed and storms to the bathroom. He throws opens the door with enough force it bangs against the wall.

“Oh, come on!” Mac shouts from inside the shower, his silhouette just visible behind the curtain and the steam filling the air. “I told you I wasn’t gonna take long! I’ll be out in a minute, so you can just—”

Dennis wrenches open the shower curtain and steps inside. Mac stares at him, eyes wide. Dennis realizes he’s breathing heavily, his skin flushed. In the bright light of the bathroom, he can see several hickies that have bloomed on Mac’s shoulders. He feels his pulse in his throat, and knows he’s got matching ones on his neck and on his thighs. It suddenly occurs to Dennis that he’s fully hard.

“Fucking hell, dude,” Mac says, and crushes their mouths together. His hands are everywhere, warm and wet, sliding across Dennis’s body. He pushes Dennis against the shower wall, and Dennis gasps as the cold tile hits his back. It sends him arching into Mac and Mac makes a sound that’s half a laugh, half a groan. He locks his hands onto Dennis’s hips and pushes him back again, and Dennis can’t stop the high-pitched whine that comes out of his mouth. He sucks hard on Mac’s tongue, then pushes him back just enough to give himself some room.

The stream of expletives that comes out of Mac’s mouth when Dennis gets on his knees would be almost enough to make Frank blush. Dennis can’t keep the smile off his face as he wraps his hand around Mac’s dick and guides it towards his mouth. He looks amazing like this, he knows, the water streaming down his hair and his back, his cheekbones and plush lips highlighted at this angle. This is how Dennis going to keep him. Keep Mac off balance, keep him coming back for more.

A plan is coming together again. Dennis doesn’t think he’s ever wanted something quite this badly, and it’s not because Mac also looks amazing wet, the dark colors of his hair and his tattoos standing out in sharp contrast to the bright shower. It’s not because he needs to know what Mac tastes like, or how he will feel inside of Dennis’s mouth.

Dennis licks Mac from root to tip, then swallows him whole. Mac shouts like he’s been shot, and slams a hand on the wall above Dennis’s head. Dennis trails his hands down Mac’s chest, feels the fluttering of his stomach muscles. He meant to start slow and let things build, but Mac feels too good in his mouth, heavy on his tongue, so very vulnerable and completely at Dennis’s mercy.

Dennis moves his hands to Mac’s ass and grabs on hard. He’s sucking with everything he’s got, bobbing his head until Mac reaches the back of his throat. Mac is making noises above him like he’s dying, and when his hand comes up, Dennis expects to be grabbed by the back of the head and his mouth fucked without any finesse. It’s not like Mac is particularly known for his self-control, after all.

Mac threads his fingers into the hair at Dennis’s temple instead, cupping the side of his face, but then he just leaves them there. It’s an oddly tender gesture, a stark contrast to the sloppy, wanton way Dennis is sucking his dick. Mac thumb traces across Dennis’s cheekbone even as he slaps the wall again, cursing like a sailor, and Dennis doesn’t know what to do with any of it.

He takes Mac as deep as he can go, opening his throat like the practiced sex god he is. He’s barely breathing from the steam and from his mouth being so full of Mac, and his knees hurt and his hands are cramping and his eyes are streaming water. It is perfect. Dennis might have felt relaxed this morning, but this is better, this is nirvana. Pure feeling, pure sensation, Dennis is nothing but a mouth and a body connected to Mac, moving for him, existing only in this moment not to think, just to _be_ , and to be so beautifully the man above him is coming apart for it.

“Fuck, Den,” Mac manages to stutter. “I’m gonna—”

He tries to pull away, but Dennis doesn’t let him. He clings tighter to Mac’s hips, keeps him pushed right to the back of his throat, and when he comes Dennis swallows as much as he can. It’s just as good as last night. It’s better. It’s a bendiction, a testament to Dennis’s divinity. He keeps Mac in his mouth, makes it last as long as he can, until Mac goes soft and starts to whine, pushing at Dennis’s arms.

There’s one mortifying moment when Dennis wonders if Mac is trying to pull him up so he can kick Dennis out of the shower and either laugh at him or wallow in his own shame, but as soon as Mac gets him to his feet he pushes Dennis back against the wall and clings to him.

“Goddamn, you fucking… Dennis, you fucking… Holy shit.” As he mumbles nonsense, Mac presses sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to the corner of Dennis’s jaw. Dennis turns his head toward him sharply, issuing a challenge. Mac takes it seemingly without a second thought, sealing his lips over Dennis’s, shoving his tongue inside his mouth without hesitation.

 _That’s you you’re tasting_ Dennis thinks, and he’s suddenly very aware of his own achingly hard dick.

He rocks against Mac, earning himself a low moan and a half-hearted pat at his groin.

“Gimme a second,” Mac sighs, dropping his forehead to rest on Dennis’s shoulder. “One second, Den, cause god fucking _damn_.”

But Dennis doesn’t want to wait a second. He doesn’t want to wait for Mac to come out of the haze of his orgasm and say something stupid like “I wonder if the next guy I bang is gonna suck my cock like that” or “will you show me how you did that cause I really want to impress this beefcake I met over the weekend.” Neither of those is an option, and Dennis is gonna prove it.

He shoves Mac backwards, and if there’s a tiny thrill that goes through him at the fact that it’s not so easy for him to move Mac’s body, it’s only pride that Mac has finally listened to him and started adding legitimate muscle and not just fat. Dennis spins them around, then makes Mac turn with a push of his shoulders. 

Mac goes willingly, without question, and Dennis can’t help but stifle a groan as his lets Dennis’s turn his head sideways and push his cheek against the tiles. Dennis presses himself along Mac’s back and Mac immediately understands, rocking back into Dennis’s cock.

“You’re so beautiful, baby.” It’s the first thing Dennis has said all morning. He meant it to be a little more praising of Mac’s actions, encouraging this behavior of completely giving himself up to Dennis the way he always should, but he can’t be blamed for getting the words a little jumbled as he strikes up a rapid rhythm, grinding into the cleft of Mac’s ass.

This isn’t going to take long. Dennis as all the control in the world over his body, of course, and he _could_ draw this out if he wanted, he could slow his frantic thrusts to long, sensual rolls, he could keep touching and moving against Mac until he got him hard again. Even when Mac reaches behind himself and grabs onto Dennis’s thighs, even as Mac makes these breathy, happy little moans and spreads his legs wider so Dennis can more easily slide between his cheeks, Dennis is still in control. He’s going to come like this in under a minute only because that’s when he _wants_ to come.  
“You like this?” Dennis pants in Mac’s ear. Mac nods frantically, cheek rubbing against the tiled wall. Dennis usually hates for his partners to talk during sex, but making Mac admit how much he’s enjoying this makes Dennis’s blood sing. “Tell me.”

“Feels so good, Dennis, fuck. You feel so good.”

Dennis can feel his orgasm building. He bites lightly on Mac’s earlobe. He knows where the line is, and he’s going to step right over it.

“Think how much better it will be,” Dennis groans, “when I’m inside you for real.”

“God, _yes_ ,” Mac says and that’s it, Dennis comes with a noise like a wounded animal, come pulsing in streams all over Mac’s back and ass.

When Dennis finally stops shaking, Mac turns around, loops his arms around Dennis’s shoulder and kisses him deeply. Dennis kisses him back, and they stand there in the shower, making out like a pair of teenagers. Dennis feels that heavy relaxed feeling in his chest again. It’s followed by another spike of anger at how easily Mac can give this feeling to him, because he can just as easily take it away. Dennis untangles himself from Mac’s arms.

“The water is going to get cold,” he says. 

“Oh, yeah,” Mac says, like he forgot they were even in a shower. “It’s all you, man. You’ve got all the shit you do, the three shampoos or whatever.”

“It’s shampoo and conditioner and a leave-in treatment,” Dennis snaps without thinking, because they’ve had this discussion a million times. “Because I’m a human man and I care about my hair, I’m not a barbarian who thinks engine grease makes for a great styling product.”

“Uh, it’s gel, dude,” Mac says as he steps out of the shower. “And my hair makes me look tough, like a gangster.”

“Your hair makes you look like fucking asshole!” Dennis yells, but he’s smiling as he reaches for his shampoo, and he hears Mac suppressing a laugh as he dries himself off.

“I’ll make breakfast,” Mac says a few minutes later as he opens the door of the bathroom and a wave of cool air washes over Dennis in the shower.

“Bacon extra crispy this time,” Dennis demands, even though Mac knows exactly how he likes it, and he makes it perfectly for him every time.

“Yes, your highnessness,” Mac replies like he always does, no matter how many times Dennis tells him that’s a terrible insult and the word is just ‘highness’ and he’s an idiot.  
It’s all perfectly normal and routine, except for the part where they got each off just moments ago, and Dennis can’t decide if that mean his plan is going well or horribly awry. He thinks about it all through the rest of his shower and his ten-step skincare routine that follows. 

If things are normal between him and Mac, then it means Mac still wants him, right? Because that was normal before, Mac licking his lips whenever Dennis popped his shirt off, Mac flushing whenever Dennis found an excuse to brush their thighs together. But normal was also Mac deciding to judge a bunch of wanna-be hotties and touching them in a way that practically screamed _you can use me however you want._

Dennis is still undecided when he walks into the kitchen and finds Mac setting the table for breakfast. He hands Dennis a cup of coffee, piping hot, no cream, and a splash of Jack just the way he likes. Dennis sits gingerly on the edge of his chair, feeling disoriented and strange.

Mac is chattering about something inane as he tips extra-crispy bacon onto Dennis’s plate then scoops the frozen waffles out of the toaster as it dings. He puts on waffle in front of Dennis even though he fucking _knows_ Dennis doesn’t eat carbs, and he slurps loudly at his coffee and pushes his hair out of his eyes. He didn’t end up putting gel in it after all.

Dennis stares at him. Mac continues to talk, stuffing bacon in his mouth. He’s stupid, he’s oblivious, and he’s happy. Dennis is sitting here with what feels like bugs crawling under his skin and his stomach twisting in painful knots, and Mac is simply, sublimely happy.

Well, fuck that.

Dennis’s chair squeaks across the floor as he jumps to his feet. Mac has half a second to look confused before Dennis storms right over to him and plunks himself on Mac’s lap.

“Uh,” Mac starts to say, swallowing a mouthful of bacon, but Dennis doesn’t let him finish. He drapes his arms over Mac’s shoulder and kisses him, firm and deep. It’s all a part of the plan. Mac will break again, he’s sure of it. He’ll lose his cool and throw Dennis to the floor and make some big speech about being a big strong manly man who has sex with not-at-all manly women and Dennis will know exactly where they stand.

Only Mac doesn’t do that. He makes a noise of surprise when Dennis’s tongue enters his mouth, but he doesn’t push him away. He puts his hands flat on Dennis’s back instead, like he doesn’t want him to fall, and he kisses him back. He tastes like bacon and coffee and everything else that is comfortable and familiar.

Dennis jerks back, nails digging into Mac’s shoulders through his t-shirt.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snarls.

Mac opens his mouth, then closes it again. He looks totally baffled, like someone asked him to solve a math problem or told him they don’t like movies that feature a lot of karate. Dennis slides off his lap to his feet. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, and he can feel a vein standing out in his neck.

“You goddamn idiot,” he spits at Mac. “You go on and on about not being gay, and it’s a sin, and now you’re just fucking calm and fine?”

For the first time that morning, Mac looks uncomfortable. Dennis feels a hot flush of victory in his chest as Mac squirms a little in his seat.

“I don’t know,” Mac admits with a shrug. “It’s something… maybe I’ve been thinking about for a while? But I also was gonna, like, not really think about it at all.”

“Okay,” Dennis says, and suddenly he’s pacing, striding back and forth in their tiny kitchen like a lion in a cage. “Okay, sure. It’s not a big deal. That’s fine. You just be a goddamn hypocrite, like always. It’s not a big to deal to you at _all_.”

Mac stands up slowly. His face is still crumpled with confusion, and Dennis wants to put his fist through it. “Den, are you mad at me?”

Dennis lets out a loud, shrieking laugh, because of course Mac would go the wounded puppy angle with his stupid soft hair and big brown eyes. 

“Am I mad?” Dennis repeats, and feels his throat cracking on the ferocity of the words. “Am I mad? I’m _mad_ I’ve put up with your shit for so long of ‘oh that’s gay!’ and now you’re suddenly just fine and like, ‘Oh, I’m gonna go out and fuck a bunch of other dudes and get blown all the time’.”

“Wait, wait, slow down.” Mac has his hands out like Dennis is a wild dog he’s trying to keep calm enough so Charlie can stuff it in a box. “Who says I’m getting blown all the time? Dennis—”

Mac puts his hands on Dennis’s arms but Dennis throws them off.

“Don’t touch me!” he yells. “I get it, okay? I get what you’re doing, and I won’t let you, because I am the Golden God, and no one replaces me! I am the one and only, you’re not even fucking worthy, but if you think anyone else… if you’re going to go out and… No one will _ever_ …” Dennis is losing it, he’s losing it all. White hot fury clamps around his chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe, and goddamn it he hates Mac so much for making him feel like this.

He hates Mac still when Mac steps closer and gently pulls Dennis into his arms. He hates Mac when Mac’s shoulder makes the perfect place to rest his cheek and Mac’s t-shirt makes the perfect thing to soak up any tears he definitely isn’t crying. He hates Mac as he rubs Dennis’s back with strong and steady hands. He hates Mac as he rests his lips against Dennis’s temple pushes his chest to Dennis’s chest so Dennis has no choice but to match his deep, even breaths.

“It’s you and me, dude.” Mac speaks with total surety, like there was never any doubt about it, like he’s simply listing an inalienable truth of the universe. “It’s always you and me.”

And Dennis hates Mac, because he believes him. He hates Mac for kissing him again, and he hates Mac for making it so gentle. He hates Mac so much he kisses him back, deep and desperate. He hates Mac as they kiss and kiss and kiss, standing in their kitchen, completely wrapped in one another.

Dennis has hated Mac for a long time. Even when he didn’t feel much, he felt this hatred, this intense, burning, all-consuming feeling for Mac. It has been a constant in his life for as long as he can remember, from when he shotgunned pot with Mac under their school bleachers to when he kissed him properly for the first time in the backroom of Paddy’s to now, when he shakes in Mac’s arms and with his kisses alone tries to climb inside Mac’s skin.

Dennis has hated Mac for a long time, so maybe things really haven’t changed for the two of them at all.

***

** Sunday Afternoon **

Dee is at the bar for three hours before Charlie gets there, five before Dennis and Mac show up. All three of them make a comment about how much a mess Paddy’s still is from Pride, and Dee has to remind all of them she is not their goddamn maid, it is not her goddamn mess, and the whole thing wasn’t even her goddamn idea in the first place.

That’s all it takes to get Charlie to start helping. He makes a show of being annoyed, but Dee can tell he’s eager to collect all the shiny baubles their Pride patrons left behind— most of which are just wrist bands from cooler bars and stick-on rhinestones— and sort through his haul like the weird little garbage magpie he is.

Dennis and Mac are much harder to goad into cleaning. They show up both with stupid little grins on their faces, like they have some inside secret. They keep pushing at each other, touchier than usual. 

“Would you two fucking help?” Dee spits at them, juggling several dirty glasses in her arms. 

“Shut up, bird,” Dennis responds lazily, and Mac giggles, high-pitched and breathy. They’re standing incredibly close to one another, huddled behind the bar.

One of the glasses slips out of Dee’s grasps and smashes on the floor. She stares at Mac and Dennis pointedly, but they ignore her. Well, fine. She can ignore them too.

As she steps over the broken shards, the door to the bar opens and a rumpled young man enters. He’s slim and pretty, and Dennis immediately stiffens like he’s a threat. Dee rolls her eyes. No one notices.

“Hey,” the guy says, walking over to the bar and smiling benignly at Mac and Dennis. “I think I left my credit card here last night. Last name Rogers?”

“Oh, yeah, I think I remember you!” Mac says happily. If he were a puppy, his tail would be wagging. “Let me see if it’s around here somewhere…” He starts to turn around but Dennis clamps a hand on his arm and jerks him back.

“Dee, you look for the card,” Dennis commands.

“Why me?” Dee immediately shoots back.

“Mac and I are busy.” Dennis wraps his arm around Mac’s waist in a gesture that’s half embrace, half restraint.

“You’re just standing there!” Dee really cannot deal with the two of them today. “I’m the only actually doing any sort of fucking cleaning of this fucking place!”

“No need to go supersonic, Jesus,” Mac says, because of course he’d side with Dennis. “Just find this guy’s card, okay, Dee?”

“Thanks,” the guy offers up half-heartedly. Dennis and Dee fix him with identical glares.

“ _Thanks_ ,” Dee repeats in a mocking voice. She starts shoving glasses and bottles around, looking for his stupid card. Dennis keeps staring the guy down.

“You know, your flirting technique is pathetic,” Dennis says in what Dee has always called his Puckered Asshole voice. “We’re not interested.”

“Okay… I just want my card,” the guy responds.

“Sure, and that’s why you’ve been checking out Mac’s dick since you walked in. Didn’t get a good enough look last night?” Dennis taunts. “Had to come back for more?”

“I don’t… I don’t know who Mac is,” the guy tries to say, but Dennis talks over him.

“Well guess what, assface, this dick is taken. That’s right. It belongs to me.”

“What the shit?” Dee looks up from stack of credit cards in her hand. “Dennis, did you just say Mac’s _dick_ belongs to you?”

“Oh, we gotta prove it now, is that right?” Dennis is nearly shrieking, his eyes popping out of his head. Mac looks embarrassed, his face and neck flushed red, but he isn’t trying to get away. “Fine! Bunch of homophobic pieces of shit.”

He turns to Mac, yanks him closer, and starts kissing him like he’s auditioning for porn. _Fucking finally,_ Dee thinks, but at the same time, _ew_.

“Um.” The guy is staring at them like they just lit a kitten on fire or something. “I’m gay.”

“I don’t give a shit.” Dee shoves a credit card at him. “Here’s your card. Now leave.”

The guy looks down at the card like it’s written in Russian. “This isn’t mine.”

“Oh my god!” _What_ is this asshole’s problem? “Get out of here!”

“Is this guy causing you trouble?” Charlie walks into the room. All around his mouth and nose are covered in glitter like he was snorting it, and he’s carrying a large knife, a popped balloon, and what looks like half a wig. He barely spares a glance for Dennis and Mac, still sloppily making out like drunk college girls trying to win a free t-shirt at a spring break party.

“He won’t stop whining about his goddamn card!” Dee explains. “I’m trying to clean up, and he comes in here, and he won’t shut up even though I _gave_ him the card!”

“This credit card belongs to someone named Megan Lynch,” the guy says, obnoxiously. “I told you my last name is Rogers.”

Dee throws up her hands in disgust. “See?”

Charlie lunges forward like a junkyard dog on leash. “Get out of here!” he yells at the stupid card guy. “Get! You got your card, go on! Get out!”

The guys goes, at long fucking last. Dennis and Mac pull apart just as the door closes behind him. Mac still looks embarrassed, but rather pleased with himself. Dennis looks the goddamn cat who ate the canary. 

“Is this your thing, now?” Dee asks with scorn. “Anytime anyone asks you to do something, you two are just going to start making out until they go away?”

Mac’s eyes light up. “Will that work?”

“Hey, Dee,” Charlie cuts in. “I found a pile of pills in the basement. I think they’re leftover from last night. Do you wanna split them with me?”

“No, Charlie.” God, Dee deserves so much more than to be surrounded by these idiots. “I do not want to do some mysterious basement drugs with you. I’m _trying_ to clean this place up but none of you are helping!”

“Goos morning, boys!” Frank waddles into Paddy’s, arms outspread like a king greeting his subjects.

“It’s four in the afternoon,” Dee says.

“Shut up, Deandra, I could hear you screaming all the way down the block.” Frank rubs his hands together like a goblin in a fairytale. “Now, I’ve got great new idea. What comes to mind when I say the words motorcycles, fake tits, and dijon mustard?”

“Oh. My. God.” There are days when Dee can’t believe this is her life.

“Uh, Mac and I have to go to the backroom for a while,” Dennis says. He sidles out from behind the bar, pulling Mac with him. “We’re a little busy for one your plans, so…”

“We’re gonna go make out some more,” Mac announces, proud as a simpleton who just learned to tie his own shoelaces. He and Dennis are back to grinning like fools. 

Unfortunately they’re still in the room and within earshot when Dennis plasters himself to Mac’s side , presses a sloppy kiss to his neck, and says, “Oh we’re going to do much more than just make out, baby.”

Dee turns to Frank and Charlie, ready to trade looks of disgust, but they aren’t paying attention to her.

“… sounds like a cool plan,” Charlie is saying. “Do you wanna go do some pills I found in the basement first?”

“Found in the basement?” Frank asks. “In a jar, or on the floor?”

“On the floor.”

“Oh, sure. Yeah, sounds great.”

“Wait—” It’s dawning on Dee what’s happening. Once again, she’s going to be left alone to clean up everyone else’s mess. “Hang on, I’m not—”

Frank and Charlie vanish down the steps to the basement. Dee looks around the ruins of the room. A shaft of sunlight filtered through their green glass window catches on the broken pieces of the glass she dropped, making them sparkle like sea glass. From the backroom comes a drawn-out, high-pitched moan.

Dee reaches for a beer. _Goddammit._

***  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me till the end! I'm not totally in love with the coda from Dee's perspective, and I'm sure there's still tons of typos in it, but either way at least it's done! Planning another MacDennis fic sometime in the future, so stay tuned.
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely comments/reviews!


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